


moon barks at the dog

by theletterv (badletter)



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dissociation, Gen, maybe a little too soft, v trying to be human at an unclear point in time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badletter/pseuds/theletterv
Summary: they let him go.
Relationships: Venom Snake & Kazuhira Miller, Venom Snake & Ocelot, Venom Snake & Paz Ortega Andrade
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	moon barks at the dog

He’s on the subway. Tucked himself into a corner but they keep their distance anyway. He doesn’t mind. He needs space. His own pulse is loud in his ears but it pushes back against the low roar of the other, the voices, the shifting clothes, the squeaking shoes. It’s so quiet in the apartment he forgets the way life sounds. 

A blink and he’s in a waiting room, distantly familiar. A secretary is speaking to him softly, words slide off the skin. She is afraid of him. Won’t look him in the eye, won’t look at his forehead, won’t look at his arm, but he won’t look at her either. It’s okay, he doesn’t mind. He is ushered through a door. 

He’s never paid much attention to decor, but the couch is nice. The texture is good on his flesh hand. It is worn enough that he feels like he’s allowed to be sitting here. The room smells like cinnamon, a small fountain trickles in the corner. The sun filtering in from the window is warm and the light curtain gives it a soft glow. It is oppressively welcoming, as is the woman across from him.

She is blonde and young. She looks kind because she wants you to believe she is kind. Her hair hangs long, flairs out from her face. It reminds him of--

No one.

“It’s been a while since we last met.”

“Mm.” 

“There’s just some housekeeping I’d like to go over...” 

“...”

“I’ve been getting quite a few calls from your, ah, benefactors.”

“...” 

“They’ve been wondering about your progress.”

A furrow of his brow. Why would they ask? They can see him.

“And?”

“And what?”

She tries to make him talk in that awful, roundabout way. Couldn’t she be more direct? Isn’t that her job? He gnaws at the scar on his lip, keeps his gaze down. Won’t give her the satisfaction of eye contact.

“What did you tell them?”

“Well, the truth. You haven’t been coming. Have they been calling you as well?”

They had. He tore the phone out of the wall. The apartment was bugged anyway. He preferred it one-way, didn’t want to hear them. He thinks when he gets home the phone will be fixed. His fingers tug at loose strings, nails dig against weathered bits of upholstery. 

“...How are you doing? Has the medication been helping at all?”

“...”

“How’s that dog of yours? His name was… DD, right?”

“...”

A sigh. Legs uncross, cross again. She takes a sip of water and leans in. The ice clinks against the side of the glass. There is so much space between them but he still presses his back to the couch.

“John, I can’t--”

He winces, breath catching in his throat. Squeezes his eye shut, holds tight against his prosthetic. The headache is already building at his temple.

“Please--”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I forgot--”

“Please, don’t call me by that name.”

It’s the name they put on all his papers. He didn’t exist anymore, after the crash. Just a bad photocopy, black and white with an ink smear on shitty paper. They built a new person for him. Gave him a quiet life to live once they were done with him. He just wished it had been any other name.

He blinks his eye, hand goes to wipe at it. Her lips are pursed, eyebrows drawn up in what seems like genuine concern. She is truly sorry. His gaze focuses past her. There is a painting behind her, some landscape. Idyllic. 

“Can you tell me... Who are you, really? Or maybe, if it’s easier, who do you want to be?”

Her voice is so soft. It wraps around him. Suffocates. He breathes out that last bit of air.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I want to be anyone.”

Another blink. Or maybe his eye never opens. A dream. A time before.

He’s at a payphone. This is a bad idea. Ocelot gave him a number. It’s crumpled in his hand, paper softened by the sweat coming off his palm. His head hurts.

“Kaz, it’s--”

This is a bad idea.

“...V? How did you-- Oh my God, V--”

Oh. He could live in that relief.

“Kaz, they let me go.”

A sudden bark of laughter pierces right through his head.

“Let you go? What does that-- What is that supposed to mean?”

“...”

“V--”

Deep breath. 

“I don’t know, Kaz. They just…” 

“Where are you?”

“Closer to him.”

Closer to you.

“What are you… They just set you loose? I don’t--”

“I heard you… They said you have a family now.”

“I-- Yeah, you could say that. Who--”

“Ocelot.”

Sharp inhale.

“He’s been… He’s kept me in the loop. Tried to, anyway.”

“I. Yeah. My wife-- Ex-wife, we have...We have a daughter.”

“I think he-- He had a point. He wanted to prove something. To me.”

“What does that mean, V?”

“I’m really happy for you, Kaz.”

“...”

“...”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Since we’ve seen each other.”

“Kaz--”

“There’s--”

“Kaz.”

“V, listen. There’s a space for you, you don’t--”

“I’m glad I got to hear from you.”

“I--”

A sigh. 

“Yeah, me too. V, if there’s anything you need…”

“Thank you, Kaz.”

He hangs up and opens his eye.

The apartment is dark. He didn’t mean to get home so late. He’ll make it up to DD. He’s getting too old to meet him at the door but he hears the jingle of his collar. 

He flips a light on and Paz is sitting in the living room, DD at her feet. She’s in one of his old shirts, blood is seeping in through the fabric from her stomach. Her fingers are bloody too, scratching little patterns into the leather of the recliner. Pulling out her stitches again. Her hair is getting long.

“Snake,” she says, smiling. “How was your day?” 

He smiles back, weary.

“It was alright. Sorry for being out so late.” 

“Oh, it is okay! DD and I kept each other company.” She leans down to pet DD. Blood is spilling over onto the floor. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”

He’s already opening the first aid kit when he remembers. He breathes out. His hand comes to rest against his abdomen and he can feel where that V is raised in his own skin. He put it there to remember she was gone. It’s been healed for a while now but he made sure the scar would stay, ugly and gnarled. It was back when-- Before they… His head hurts. 

The first aid kit goes back in the bathroom. He washes his hands, washes his face. Washes again. He took the mirror down when they moved him in, wrapped it up in newspaper and put it in the linen closet. It made it easier, but he still doesn’t feel clean. His face is raw when he goes to greet DD.

He gets on the floor with him like he used to; when they were both young enough to roll around and wrestle, before they’d both gotten so gray. He presses his face into DD’s fur, feels the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest. He was here and alive and warm, but even that can’t chase away the ghost of fingers against his neck.

They are sitting in his kitchen, DD with his head in Ocelot’s lap. He misses him so much when he is gone.

Leather worn soft feels comforting against his skin. Ocelot’s hands are smoothing over his hair, fingers pressing into his scalp. Soothing. A window is open. It is pleasantly bright and with the soft breeze comes the sounds of life, muted, manageable. It’s a beautiful day.

“Your hair is getting so long, V.”

That was good. The other one kept it short. 

“It suits you, but I think you’re due for a trim.” A hand trails down his cheek, threading through his beard. “This could be cleaned up a bit, too. You’re looking like a real mountain man.” 

Ocelot knows he has a hard time with this kind of thing. It’s difficult to say if this is another display of Ocelot’s patience or his means of an apology after everything that brought them here. He curls a finger into the hair framing Ocelot’s face, gentle. Tucks it back behind his ear, lets calloused fingertips skim against his cheek.

“This suits you, too.”

Ocelot smiles at him, tired and thin. It feels like he ages years between the times they see each other. Ocelot came when he was needed most and only ever then. He had so much to do. There was always so much to do. His head was getting clearer these days, at least. 

Ocelot gets the scissors, the comb. He doesn’t have to tell him where to find them. 

He takes off his shirt and sets it on the dog who just looks at him, that single eye as bright as ever. He smiles, lopsided. Hands reach out to fiddle with the radio on the table. His new prosthetic doesn’t have the same dexterity but it’s much less conspicuous than the red hand. Harder to trace, too. 

The music isn’t familiar but it’s nice.

Ocelot is at his back, now, gently combing through his hair. Murmured apologies when it catches in a knot, tugs. He keeps one hand at the back of his neck, loosely holding him in place. Ocelot took off his gloves. To feel the marbling of scarred skin clinging desperately to bone is a sensation unique to his touch. Ocelot’s skin is cold, dry. A relief against his own; he’s always run hot.

“Do you still have your tapes?”

Spoken so softly. Hair is parted and brought to rest between two fingers. The gentle grip against his neck is released to pick up the scissors, the blades click together as they cut through the strands. Not too much. Ocelot likes this length on him.

“I do. They let me keep the music and a few others.”

Tapes with voices he would come to miss. As long as it didn’t have too much on it from those days it was fair game. He was thankful for that. They are tucked in a box with old pictures that have traveled with him after all this time, photo paper long since worn with creases and the worry of fingertips. 

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“...”

Snip.

“Ocelot.”

“Mm?”

Snip.

“Did he throw me away?”

A sigh.

“Oh, V.”

The comb and scissors are set on the table. He is in front of him, taking his face in bare hands. Ocelot’s lips press to his temple. He leans into the touch.

“If he was done with you we wouldn’t be here.”

His eye closes.

When it opens, he is on the floor. It is morning, DD is licking his face, and his back is killing him. He gets up with a groan and DD noses the back of his knee. He forgot to feed him last night. 

“Sorry, buddy.” His flesh hand pets him between the ears. “I’ll get your breakfast. Something special. How does that sound?”

DD goes ahead to the kitchen. He can hear the crunch of dry food. The spark of a lighter. The smell of tobacco.

The phone rings.

**Author's Note:**

> [title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXfTstP3kJM)
> 
> i rewatched You Were Never Really Here the other day, which is one of my most favorite movies, and thought about how much joe reminds me of V and somehow that translated into this.


End file.
